The Darkened Songbird
by yeuxdessirene
Summary: In which Voldemort takes his songbird, in blood, stone, and angst. Strong M for violent sexual acts. Series of one shots. Spoiler Alert.
1. Chapter 1 BATTLEFIELD

He took her on the battlefield. Bodies lay everywhere, the smell of burning flesh did not deter his lust, or hers. He lays her down among the corpses, bloody dirt covering her pale skin like a blanket as he sinks into her.

Blood.

She claws at the ground, her hands becoming red with the blood draining from bodies near by, the ground, over saturated with the life liquid, willingly dispensing it on her cursed finger tips. She rakes her bloody hands down her body, leaving red lines down eerie white skin.

He follows these trails with his tongue, a snake like thing with a flickering motion. She moans, and gasps as a slight flick teases a nipple at the same time as a thrust.

He smiles.

"Sing to me, Bella."

He pounds into her, raising her arousal with every thrust. She sings a chorus of dark murmurings, moans, and screams as he places a curled finger on her nub, and rubs.

They erupt. Her chorus reaches a climax.

"Tom", she moans as she is filled with him. He hisses, as an array of emotions hit him, the only reason why he knows that he is still somewhat human.

He looks at her, his darkened song bird, before he slits her throat. *

*Obviously, she is not dead. This will be explained later.

Author's note: This is the beginning. It's a series of one shots that are one shots, but still can be read in an order. Sorry it's been awhile, I've been going through a lot of crap.


	2. Chapter 2 BELLA'S RELEASE

She has been released from prison, still a deathly vision in prisoner garb, ebony strips of ivory innocence. She cackles, a wheezing sputtering shriek of glee bursts through her lips like a snakes forked tongue. She emerges on the rocks, a screaming enchanted woman of black.

He calls her.

"My lord", she breathes, breasts heaving.  
"Bella", he all but hisses, and he is upon her. Her skeleton is brittle with malnutrition, he notes, and rage at his Azkaban fills his blood. Her hands softly caress down his back, as her lips murmur in his ear.  
"We'll get his Tom. I swear it." His mind is filled with the image of her, naked and shining in the moonlight, covered in the dirt of Harry Potter's freshly dug grave as he takes her, ravishes her in the face of the boy who lived.

He kisses her, rough and ragged lips of darkness scatter across her skin. It is a heated kiss. One of the few they share. He finds pleasure within her return.

His hands are all over her. Ripping the vile prison stripes from her body, as if to pull the memory of her years of absence from both their minds. She is underneath him, slithering hands slips up and down his flesh and he looks her straight in the eyes.

He takes her. It is not as rough as he would of liked, but she is so malnourished. He plunges into her, pushing into her tight cavity. Her moans fill his ears, as she is filled with him. This is what she has been waiting for. 15 years of pent up lust come pouring out of them both as they climax.

He sees red. She is bathed in his rosy glow, the perfect image of the devil's mistress.


	3. Chapter 3 SIRIUS' DEATH

Cackling laughter. A mission failed, but a blood traitor has gone through the veil. Her cousin is dead, the dear sweet Potter boy is beside himself. Outwardly, he is beyond enraged at the failed battle. Inwardly, he will rejoice with her. He hears her laughter, if only in his head.

She is coming to him, a woman in night's robes, singing to her self.

"_I killed Sirius Black. I killed Sirius Black."_

Something, resembling a smile, graces his face.

The knife is always ready. He carefully glides behind her, before slitting her throat. She turns and smiles.

Let the games begin.

The crimson slides down her neck. It is not fatal. They know better then that. It is a practiced cut, the thin silvery lines of previous years shine in the low light. She wears the blood like a diamond necklace. The beads of red adorning her flesh begin to send him over the edge; she finds her self naked, with a flick of his wrist.

He cuts her, from the top of her rib cage down to her pelvis, a thin line of blood seeps downing wards to her heated crotch, where it pools, dripping from her sex. She takes her fingers, swirling them in the red liquid slowly before her fingers whisper across her skin, the blood trails she leaves looking like butterfly wings.

She looks down at this, and smiles.

As she looks up, he has closed the gap between them.

"Let me rip you." He pulls at the flesh of her wound.  
"Let me tear you." He plunges into her, her knees hitting his chest, she feels her body take him roughly, her sex tearing, she lets out a strangled sigh.  
"Let me taste you." He parts her legs, his tongue searching for where her blood and juices meet.

He licks.

Her song erupts from her lips. A series of moans, shivers, screams and murmurs. Then he is inside of her, hard and fast as they bask in the glory of her kill. She looks like the night, skin twinkling, the dark shadow of lust flutters within her eyes.

It ends. The pulsing sensation, reminiscent of slithering snakes slows as the world comes back in focus. He closes her wounds, white lines of lust littering her body, before sweeping away, shadow robes swirling like a night mist as stalks away.


	4. Chapter 4 DUMBLEDORE'S DEATH

Her hysterical laughter ricochets off darkened walls. But he knew her; this laughter was empty, full of nerves and failure to him.

It had gone wrong, although the great phoenix lay dead.

He sits, moonlight engulfing him, his slit eyes sloping forward on his face in an effort to narrow them; to look displeased, for his darkened song bird. He glances outside the window. A pure, heavenly white peacock struts across the lawn, it's tail hanging behind it like a river of pearly scales.

Lucius had always been a bit pretentious.

She opens the door, her eyes alive; she is covered in blood and black. She believes that since the great phoenix lay dead, he is safe. Her precious little Draco.

Dragon.

How he could not live up to his blood lusting name.

She smiles. Teeth like knives; serrated daggers of ivory protruding from pink gums.

"Sweet Bella."

Her smile becomes strained. He only called her sweet when he was angry.

"Did you really think that Draco, and his family, are safe after this little...incident?"

Her eyes darken. "He could have done it, if Snape had not...interfered." She finished lamely, as if not believing a single syllable.

Voldemort snickers. "Bella. We both know that Draco does not posses the same...tenacity for darkness as you do. He could not have completed the task. However, he has shown that with the correct...motivation, to be a valuable asset. He will live."

Bella smiles. "I promise to try and...drive my extended family to have thirst as I do. Although, I must admit, I have a slightly different motivation." She crosses the floor, her long robes pools of black sliding against the stone. Her hooded eyes smoldering. Voldemort laughed.

"Dear Bella. How you do not run to your dear nephew and sister's defense! Might it be because we are alone?"

"Tom", she starts. He knew she was being serious; no one but her ever called him Tom.

"You know I make no excuses for their pathetic hearts."

He smiles. A slit across an expanse of white epidermis. She stands in front of him. A mermaid of black. Long dark tendrils. Hanging hoods of shadow. Sweeping hems of swishing night envelope her frame. He studies her face. Dried blood. A cut on the cheek, or a stray spray from attacking light? It didn't matter. The crimson was his favourite colour on her.

He has her against a wall. A choke hold on her throat; his fingers tighten as a look of pure enlightened pleasure floated across her face. He could feel the blood vessels popping, the bruise forming just under the skin. He slowly releases her, his knee leaning just against the wall under her pelvis, catching her so her feet dangled in the air. She looked up at him, heavy eyes of lust. He discards her robes, after letting her feet drop to the floor.

She stands, skin shinning in the moonlight, bare. Carefully, she reaches up towards his face. He allowed her palm to cup his cheek for a second, before slicing the skin on her fore arm, and watching the crimson bubble up, like water from a geyser. He knew she expected it. Scars from the beginning, when he was not as practiced and sure still lay in area of her now bleeding gash.

His tongue travels, a forked red flicker against the blood that drips from her wound. He swallows. It tastes so sweet. His fingers now slide against the cut, blood stains his finger tips and he slides them down her body, leaving scarlet trails against her ghostly pale skin.

He cuts her again. And again. Slivers of rogue appear all over her form, bleeding freely. He decides that it's not crimson that is his favourite colour on her, but blood. He is most fond of her in blood. He decides that he has had enough time to play.

He slips out of his robes, as a snake would out of a discarded skin. Again, he has he against the wall, plunges into her. And softly, a mere whisper, like a flutter of butterfly wings, he whispers:

"Sing to me, Bella."

She smiles. "Of course my lord."

And with that, she hears a gentle crucio and her world becomes a twisted realm.

She remembers telling little baby potty that to use an unforgivable, you have to mean it, feel it, need it, with every fiber of your being. You need the other person to feel pain, to twitch and fall and scatter the air with the sound of their screams and hitching breath. But when he says it, it is almost kind, loving even. For as every nerve on her body screams for humanity, he slams into her, (his fingers finding the seemingly only bundle of nerves unaffected by the pain) and he is taking her, and taking her and taking her. The Cruciatus curse only heightens her sense, her feelings; he takes her to the most unbelievable high. When she cums, there are literal flashes of light in her eyes and she screams, her voice taking on the decimal range of a banshee.

He enjoys the sound; oh the pleasurable sound of a songbird.

And then his world is on fire. Her muscles have clenched around his, milking him and he cums, shuddering against her frame. His hands run themselves in her blood, the feeling of her seeping warmth sending him higher. He wonders if this is what it will feel like when he finally kills Potter.

Their breathing is ragged. He ends the Cruciatus curse with a wave, and closes her wounds with another flick. She is exhausted, by smiling. She slides her robes on, as he stands before her. She allows herself one moment of humanity as she slides her fingers down his arm, and gently, if only for a moment, squeezes his hand.


End file.
